


a way to be very tender

by orphan_account



Series: Kinktober 2019 [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Breakfast, Dom!Sam, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Sub!Bucky, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bucky admits he could have handled this more tactfully.“I want you to tell me what to do when we have sex and I want you to hurt me if I don’t do it. I’m going to go make breakfast now.” He says.Kinktober 2019 Day Four: Dom/sub





	a way to be very tender

**Author's Note:**

> CW for off screen rape as well as possibly unhealthy coping mechanisms
> 
> Please let me know if there’s anything else I should warn/tag!

Bucky admits he could have handled this more tactfully.

Sam has just woken up, he looks cute and sleep rumpled, he’s smiling his cotton candy sweet smile. The smile that reminds Bucky he’s the luckiest man in the world because he gets to see it everyday. Bucky doesn’t smile in return, he turns away from Sam, stands up from the bed.

“I want you to tell me what to do when we have sex and I want you to hurt me if I don’t do it. I’m going to go make breakfast now.” He says.

He heads to the kitchen and starts cracking eggs into a bowl. He tries not to listen to the sounds of Sam pacing around their bedroom. He whisks the eggs, pours them into a pan, gets the cat her breakfast. Sam is still pacing. Bucky pours himself another cup of coffee, looks out the window of their Brooklyn apartment, the skyline looks so different it still surprises him sometimes. 

He’s plated their food by the time Sam comes out. He doesn’t say anything, just trails his hand against Bucky’s back as he goes to get coffee, takes longer then necessary to stir in his fancy soy vanilla creamer.

Eventually he sits down facing Bucky, his eyes are very big and warm. Bucky shoves half a piece of toast into his mouth and looks down at his plate.

Sam isn’t touching his food, which forces Bucky to look up.

Sam clears his throat. “What kind of thing do you want me to tell you to do?”

Bucky feels angrier at Sam then he ever has before. He closes his eyes counts to ten in English and Russian. “That defeats the point, Wilson.”

“So if I asked you to make love to me nice and slow, you’d be fine with that?” Sam asks.

“No, Sam, I wouldn’t because I don’t want you to ask, I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me what to do and punish me if I don’t comply.”

Sam visibly flinches at the word ‘comply.’

Bucky reaches across the table, stops short over Sam’s hand, Sam takes Bucky’s vibranium fingers in his.

“Did you do that kind of thing in your old apartment?” Sam asks.

Saying his ‘old apartment’ is shorter then saying did you do that almost a century ago, before imprisonment and torture and, as his file put it, ‘Authorized Non-Designed for Purpose.’ 

They’ve both read Bucky’s file, files, two bureaucracies worth of them. They’ve both seen ‘Authorized Non-Designed for Purpose’ typed neatly under ‘Mission’ and above ‘Readmitted to Cryo-Tank.’ They’ve both read thirty years worth of ‘Unauthorized Non-Designed for Purpose’ before an up-and-coming HYDRA agent had an idea for an incentive program. They both know what his ‘Non-Designed for Purpose’ is. Was.

He could easily lie to Sam, tell him he and Betty O’Connor got up to a lot more then necking. Sam would take his word for it, would trust Bucky.

Bucky sighs. 

“No.” He says.

Sam gets the sad, helpless look on his face he usually reserves for a child in distress or Riley’s mother on the telephone.

Bucky takes a bite of egg, chews slowly. It’s extra buttery, the way his ma made them.

There’s a too long stretch of silence.

Then, “You need to have a safeword and you need to promise me you’ll use it. And you need to respect my limits, I refuse to seriously hurt you, or call you what they did, or a lot of things! And you can’t ask me to do that.”

Bucky had expected this, prepared himself not to be disappointed. He nods.

“And we can’t do it every time, I can’t do this every time.” Sam is trying valiantly to keep the strain out of his voice.

“Course, doll.” And he doesn’t mean to get sappy, but Sam always makes him sappy,  
“You’re my best guy,” and he doesn’t mean to apologize, but he thought the guilt he’d get from asking Sam for this would be like adding a snowflake to a mountain, but it’s more like adding a body to Everest—it’s really getting crowded. “I’m real sorry, Sam.”

Sam squeezes Bucky’s hand hard, and the vibranium doesn’t hurt, can’t hurt but he feels it none the less. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Bucky. Christ.”

Finally Sam picks up a fork with his unoccupied hand and takes a bite. He switches the topic to baseball and let’s Bucky rant about the Dodgers for an unprecedented twenty minutes while he eats his cold eggs.

They talk about it some more, before Sam will actually do it. They talk about it a lot and read articles and watch an overly chipper young woman explain the definition of words like ‘sadomasochism.’ They both fill out a checklist and then spend two hours going over said checklists.

Finally they’re on the couch watching an artsy French movie Sam likes, Bucky’s petting the cat, Sam’s petting Bucky’s newly short hair. Sam asks “Do you want to, tonight?”

“Yes.” Bucky says, quick and eager. He knows he’s selfish for asking this of Sam, but he spent so long unable to ask for anything that he thinks he might have gone greedy for it now.

Sam smiles his sweet smile at Bucky, the same smile he had the first time Bucky kissed him. Bucky is filled with the knowledge that he does not deserve Sam, that not one of God’s holy saints has done enough to deserve Sam Wilson.

Bucky gently removes the cat from his lap. He holds Sam’s hand as they walk to the bedroom. Bucky stops in the door way, looks expectantly at Sam.

“Take your clothes off.” Sam says.

Bucky takes his clothes off, the way he’s been taking his clothes off in front of Sam for a year now. He doesn’t try to make it sexy, he sniffs his flannel shirt before deciding it’s clean enough and throwing it at a chair instead of the laundry hamper.

Once he’s naked he looks up at Sam again, Bucky’s smiling now, small. Sam whistles at him and Bucky gives his best Cary Grant smile and winks.

“Alright, get up on the bed, big guy.” Sam says, orders.

Bucky gets up on the bed, lying down face up. Today Bucky had made the bed while Sam made breakfast because it was his turn to make the bed and Sam’s turn to make breakfast. 

“Touch yourself for me.”

Bucky does not comply.

Sam looks at him like he knows exactly what Bucky’s doing, but instead of disgust or hurt like Bucky has braced himself for, his eyes are filled with tenderness. It’s much worse.

Sam climbs on to the bed fully clothed, he straddles Bucky and slaps him hard on the face. Bucky’s cheek feels buzzy and rest of him feels gooey. Most of all he feels very, very grateful for Sam.

Bucky doesn’t know why he wants this. He just knows he wants this from Sam and Sam alone, knows he trusts Sam more than anyone, loves him more than anyone. Knows Sam will do this for him and it won’t be at all like HYDRA, no matter what Sam does.

“Touch yourself.” Sam repeats.

Bucky touches himself and it feels electric, a bolt of lighting from his cock down to his toes and back up his spine. Sam, still a comforting weight straddling him, reaches over to the side table and grabs a bottle of lube. 

“Hold out both your hands.” Sam orders.

Bucky lets go of his hard cock and holds out both his hands, Sam gives him a generous amount of lube. Sam hops off of him, sits criss cross at the end of the bed, watching Bucky intently.

“I want—“Sam stops himself, tries again. “Play with your cock and work yourself open for me.”

Bucky starts with two fingers, knowing that Sam would rather he go slow. He jerks himself off and fingers himself at the same steady pace. Soon he adds another finger, making himself hiss with the stretch of it. Sam tuts, grabs ahold of Bucky’s ankle and gives it a warning shake.

“Gentle, Buck.” Sam says, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek but accepts the order. He works his fingers in and out of himself slower, grazes his prostate with each thrust. When his cock is leaking pre-cum and his hole is stretched and he’s about to go crazy with lust, Sam gives a new order.

“Stop. Legs up.”

Bucky takes his fingers away like he’s been burned, he lifts his legs, leaving his hole empty, vulnerable and twitching. Sam rubs his finger over Bucky’s exposed openness, making Bucky shiver. Sam gets even closer, he puts Bucky’s legs on his broad shoulders, taking all the weight from him. Bucky, bent in half feels exposed and vulnerable and so, so safe in Sam’s arms.

Normally if they were having sex this would be the part where Sam asks Bucky if he’s okay or cracks a joke or says something kind that Bucky could only believe coming from Sam’s mouth. Instead Sam thrusts hard into Bucky in one fluid motion, until he’s completely buried inside him.

Bucky groans, eyes closed, rolls his head from side to side. It’s too much, too good, more than Bucky has ever deserved.

“Hey, Buck, look at me.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He can’t bear it, knows he can’t, knows he’s one look at Sam away from shattering completely.

A hard slap hits his other cheek. Bucky opens his eyes. He was right, it’s far too much. Sam is looking at him with eyes you could fall into, eyes you could drown in. Sam continues to fuck into Bucky at a brutal pace, his eyes filled with nothing but love.

Bucky shivers, his whole body quaking. Sam cups his cheek with a gentle hand, his thumb going back and forth soothingly. 

“Can I come?” He asks, desperate, his cock untouched and aching on his stomach.

“No.” Sam says, continuing to stare into Bucky’s soul, continuing to rub his thump along his face soothingly like Bucky’s an abandoned kitten he found in the rain. Bucky whines pathetically. Sam smiles, pleased at his reaction.

Sam holds his face with both hands now, brushes tears Bucky didn’t know he was shedding away. He keeps fucking him and fucking him and fucking him. Bucky thinks he’ll never stop, hopes to God he’ll never stop, will keep him strung out like this forever. Bucky’s whole body feels alive in a way it hasn’t since the first time they put him on ice, like every cell is finally waking up from a long winter.

“Come now.” Sam orders and Bucky does, his hole tightening as Sam comes with him, in him, filling him, every broken piece.

After a moment Sam pulls out, flops down onto the bed. Bucky pulls him to him, spooning him, hugging him tight. He kisses the back of Sam’s neck.

“You okay, ангел мой?” Bucky asks.

Sam makes a noise of agreement, kisses Bucky’s hand he’s holding. They fall asleep like that. Tomorrow Bucky will make them breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.  
Sorry this is more angsty the sexy, I promise I have more typical stuff in the works
> 
> Title taken from the Jenny Holzer Truism “IT IS IN YOUR SELF-INTEREST TO FIND A WAY TO BE VERY TENDER.”


End file.
